Monster and Principle
by VeneziaK
Summary: Written for the Fandom for Sexual Assault Awareness compilation. Rated M for violence


**This story was written for the Fandom For Sexual Assault Awareness Compilation.**

**Summary: Three vampires and a human without a life. One unaware of his choices. One misguided by his conscience. One desperate for a saving grace. One there to show that the demon isn't always the obvious sinner. Four stories of monsters with red eyes.**

**Disclaimer: Everything Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. This story is a product of fan-fiction.**

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><p><strong>*Of Darkness*<strong>

**Mary Alice Brandon**

The stains of my punishment. The madness is all that's left from my slow atonement for sins I can't control, of things I don't know. The walls of my cage have left their marks on my skin from the countless times I have thrown myself at them ferociously in an attempt to gain my freedom. The simple cloth, sewn properly to look as a robe, is torn at the ends. It smells of sweat, blood and mud. To say the truth every corner of my cell reeks of death and pain. There isn't a single inch on this cursed floor that I haven't cried and screamed upon. And the images continue to invade the private wall of my mind.

I am weak; no more strength has been left in me to fight them or the images or my own self. There is nothing to keep me from falling every time I stumble my way across the pathetic room. That is the only thing I can really do anymore - stumble and crawl and scream and beg.

I want to will myself to forget because I can still remember everything from my previous life. I've tried many times to numb the only strong part of my brain, the one that shows me my past. I want to silence it so I won't hurt so badly but every electric shock is able to keep it awake. And the beauty of the world tortures me in my cage. My previous life was so full of colors and people in beautiful attires. My parents liked to show me off from time to time because I was 'a beautiful young lady.' And I really was. My favorite thing used to be my long black hair, dark as a raven. Its tendrils reminded me of a willow's branches. But I was young and naïve and my parents were concerned more about what lay under my beautiful hair that I so loved.

Now my hair is cut short due to convenience. And it was cut so carelessly. Lost are the long handfuls of my hair and so is my life and my future. With every hair that has been thrown away, along with my rights as a human being, I lost my hold on the sane world. I'm not talking with vanity. A creature like me would never be so concerned about its beauty. That's why I liked my hair. It was the only thing on me that was beautiful with very little care. It was natural. So unlike me.

The humans in my life have turned into terrifying monsters. Those who were supposed to love and protect me - my parents - sucked the life out of me because I was seeing things. I became the filthy witch that came to take the kids and curse the men. My world became a medieval horror-story. I never regretted seeing those things because I had saved the life of a young girl once, even though no one knew about it. And regardless, I couldn't stop that heightened sense of what is to come. The images and impressions always came involuntary. What I regret is telling them of my visions. Because that was when my downfall came.

In this horror-story there are no serial killers or zombies. The humans, the living people that breathed the same air as me, turned against one of their own because she was different. I don't know what worse can exist after them. In my mind they should be electrified for what they do to me.

I remember each one of my days in the cage. I identify them by the treatments of shock. Every treatment is a new day and a new pain to endure. After the treatment, there is the only meal-boiled water with rice and some kind of hard bread-I have until after the next electrocution. It has been eons since the last time I saw the sun. I remember that last time clearly. I had so much fun with my little sister in our yard. She was young enough to not care or understand my gift and curse. I remember her laughter and her bright eyes. This is the last image of innocence I have in my memories. Now I don't even have a window.

That is darkness for me. It is my only company and my only acquaintance. I find myself speaking to it, waiting hopelessly for an answer to my questions. What does the sun look like? I have forgotten. How do the trees and flowers smell? I can only smell death in my purgatory. How does the wind sound? Screams of pain and despair have been my lullabies for too long. And I long for the music, the sweet smell of spring and homemade bread, the heat of the sun on my face.

Even the thought of ever breathing fresh air again is forbidden for me. No matter the ridiculous treatments, the situation never gets any better. I will forever have weird images in my mind, sort of like forgotten memories that I can finally remember. But none is actually my memory. There are people and places I know in them and others that I have never seen.

I remember seeing them even as a kid. I couldn't understand then what they were or that I was the only one with that rare 'gift'. When I got older and began to see things that were actually happening, it felt kind of creepy. I was scared in the beginning and I was afraid to tell anybody - with a good reason, that is. And as I grew up, I thought that maybe I could help prevent some bad things. I could intervene and change the future. But sometimes I felt helpless as I couldn't really control the visions.

My parents didn't know anything until I was fifteen. I had a vision concerning my mother. There would be an accident when she would decide to visit her mother and she would die. I did everything in my power to make her change her mind and put off the trip without telling her about my vision. Until she got angry and started yelling at me for my 'ridiculous' behavior. So, I told her everything about my visions. There was a big fight at my house then. I didn't say anything but they told me to try to stop it. They never mentioned it again. Not until I made the same mistake to save one of my friends two years later. Only this time people heard about my peculiar visions. The rumor was out and my parents couldn't have it, obviously.

So maybe this is my punishment for trying to play God. I couldn't know. Every time I did it my intentions had been good. I never used my ability for my benefit. I tried to keep my actions as justified as possible.

Humans, people in general, didn't give me the same courtesy.

I don't know what day it is. Which month, season, year, life. I am living in a way that some call out-of-body experience. I tune out the pain like that. Not that it is entirely safe in this little bubble of controlled peace and numbness I have created. I use the flawless technique of the Sumo fighters.

I am alone in the cell as always. I hear nothing, I smell only blood and sweat and mud. I see only darkness. I wait patiently for the next vision, ignited by the last treatment. It always happens like this. The vision comes. Only, this time, it happens in the reality as I see it.

The door bursts open hastily, unlike every other time when the monsters just wanted to prolong my torture and a man I can barely remember gets in frantically. I don't see him, I see the vision. He throws me on his shoulder effortlessly and leaves. I don't react due to my lack of strength and will. I momentarily wonder why the new treatment is happening so close to the last but I have ceased questioning the monsters for a long time now. The man runs exceptionally fast, considering my weight in his arms too. But I guess I don't weigh too much by now. I can't see the hallways as he passes them in his hast. Finally he opens a door and gets out. It is dark but my eyes have adjusted to it. Darkness is my ally in every situation. Like the Sumo technique, it hides my pain. The wind against my face surprises me. It has been so long since the last time I have felt its gentle strokes, kinder than any human touch. I close my eyes and let the scents of a forest take over my senses. I smell wood, fallen leaves and wet ground. And for the first time after so long I feel something more than numbness. I feel a kind familiarity with the environment around me, even though I have never been an outdoors' person. Maybe it's the instinct that pulls you to the ground, returning to the place you came from. The contentment of passing away. The man stops running and gently places me on the ground. I look up to see dark eyes against pale, shallow skin. They are staring back at me trying to offer an apology for something that hasn't been done yet. I don't care; I don't hear his muffled words. I turn my gaze towards the sky and my lips twitch upwards in a tight yet peaceful smile. Nature and luck are kind enough to grant me some light before my end. The sky is brilliantly starlit over the trees and there's the faint glow of a half-moon biding me farewell. I feel grateful for that last glimpse of hope, a single flame in my darkness. As I close my eyes preparing for that impending end I pray for one thing. In this half-life of mine I seem to know everything. The man leans towards me in the vision that still played behind my closed eyelids and I feel his movements at the same time. If there's an afterlife, I pray for oblivion.

**Jasper Whitlock**

**The Only Choice**

I'm leaning against the wall of the alley, my head turned down. I'm drenched, the water of the rain falling from the strands of my hair to my face and to the ground. A flash of light shines for a fraction of the second. And then a loud sound of breaking across the sky. And the wind is finding its way through my soaked clothes to my stone skin. It's cold outside tonight. But the weather isn't as cold as my heart; not cold enough to rein in the burning in my throat or evaporate the feeling of dryness and hot sand on my tongue. Only one thing can take that torture away.

Life.

Blood.

A lost heartbeat.

A voice in my head. A leering, hissing voice. _Go! Take! Go! Kill!_ Egotistical. Unethical. And so fabulously obsessive. The urge to snap my teeth together with force. To hunt, to flex my muscles like a panther that pounces on a bull and drives its claws into the hard skin. To feel the thrill of the most arousing combination of smell. Adrenaline and fear and death.

Death. A low growl escapes my throat at the thought. I don't know, though, whether it is a growl of want or disgust. And every time I try to silence the monster, it always wakes up stronger than the last. It fights me with every second I take away from its dinner time. And I hate myself every time I give in. Because the stone is stronger than the spirit.

I am a monster.

I inhale a huge gust of air, full of scents that make the demon in my head jump with excitement. I hear its voice again, this time laughing maniacally, menacingly. I see the glint in its eyes behind my closed eyelids. I see its hands rubbing with enthusiasm. I feel the tremor of its body's need, shake my own. I inhale again. Blood. Fresh, sweet and in abundance. Blood. Blood. Blood. Red. Hot. Smooth, fragile skin. Blood. Exposed neck. Skin. Blood.

I don't control anything anymore. My body is not my own. It's under the command of the demon.

The eyes open and the head turns. The eyes see a single silhouette across the street. Another flash of light and a thunder that brings _me_ back momentarily. But like the light, I'm lost again. The legs start moving. Silently. Lethally. They follow the man across the street. The monster sprints then towards its prey of choice and drags the man to another alley.

I may not have control of my body but I can still feel. Not my feelings but the victim's. Surprise as the monster grasps the back of his coat. Confusion as he is being tossed like a rug doll against the wall. Pain as he falls to the ground after hitting his head on the bricks. And total fear as he gazes into the eyes of the demon. Dark. Inhuman. Murderous.

Blood. The tender skin of the neck. A racing heartbeat. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood… blood…

The man has no time to scream as the monster launches on his neck. The teeth are buried into the soft flesh, the mouth fills with that hot liquid that quenches the burning, and the monster sighs in pleasure and contentment. But _I_ snarl in frustration, mouth still sucking away the life of the man. _I_ growl with his pain still fueling my own pitiful existence with the loss of his. And _I_ gasp in despair at his sorrow for losing… something. Everything. Maybe a dream unfulfilled. Maybe his family. Maybe life itself. Maybe. Maybe. So many possibilities. There's only one choice for the vampire. Kill. Blood.

The heart flatters once and finally gives up. A few seconds more and the body is empty. And it's _my_ hands that hold the victim. It's _my_ mouth around his neck. It's _my_ throat that revels in the coolness the blood offered. The monster is hidden. Not speaking. Not coaxing. Not laughing and smirking and growling. It's just me and a corpse. A man that lost his life to feed a dead person.

It's just me again. Left alone with a limb body in my hands. Blood is still running down my chin from the brutal meal. I feel it inside me, igniting my flesh. I lick the last drops around my mouth and my body shivers at the taste.

It's just me and all I remember, after the smell of the blood is vanished, is the intensity of the dead man's feelings. The surprise. The confusion. The physical pain. The fear. And the fierce sorrow with his last breath. The fire in my throat is gone. But my soul took its place in the middle of the pyre. And I burn. And I burn. The smell of the blood, sweet and metallic. Blood that fuels the fire that burns my soul. No more hissing voices in my head. Only grieving and angry screams around me. The pain of a family, when they find that a loved one was violently killed.

I run away. I retreat to the forest where there's no one else for me to hurt. And then I feel aggravated that the monster is asleep. I'd prefer the demon's company at the moment. I'd prefer the burning thirst to distract me from the torture of having just killed an innocent man.

Red eyes. Dead skin. Blood. And cold. I can't control it as I scream their pain and mine. Their lost dreams and my lost life. I can't control it, can't hold it back. I had once thought myself powerful, a man-human then-in authority. Now I'm weak. A slave to the command of the demon that rests in my body. It stills my heart, sucks me dry from the compassion and self-control. I can't find that man that I used to be. I can't find chains strong enough to cage the monster.

I run through the dark forest. The red eyes of the monster can see perfectly in the night. There's a stream somewhere. I don't bother jumping over the water. I fall on my knees in the middle of the stream. And I let a struggled yell build from my lungs and explode through my mouth. I yell my pain. I yell my self-loathing. My desperation for everything that was taken from me. My fists crush and pound on the stones under me. And the water can't wash away the blood. And I'm hitting and hitting as I keep screaming. And was it for someone to see me there, they would think me an animal in rage. They would run away frightened like the animals that had fled in my presence. Instinct they call it. Self-preservation.

And when my rage evaporates I'm panting uncontrollably. I lean forward, my head on my forearms and I shake violently. My rapid breaths are unnecessary. I close my eyes and the pain fills my body with an intensity that reminds me of my transformation. But this pain is caused but the venom of my guilt.

I was once a soldier. Trained to lead my men to the battle. To make the best decision to kill. To eradicate the forces of the enemy. And then I became a killing machine. Exactly what I had dreamed to be. And I don't kill for any purpose other than to quench my personal need for blood. Blood that warms my frozen body. Blood that brings me closer and closer to hell with each drop. I'm the worst kind of addict and I can't find a cure. I'm the worst kind of nightmare and I can't seem to find a way out. Sometimes I wish the monster would take over completely. That I could lose myself in the hunt and enjoy the thrill of it.

But the human inside me is still fighting through my ability. And I have no strength to support his revolution, the resistance he puts to not let the monster take over.

I cry for my mistakes. I cry for the lives I took. I cry for my burning soul. I cry for my sins. I cry and sob like a lost child. I cry with eyes that don't shed tears. I cannot even pay in tears for the blood I took.

I stay drenched in the middle of the stream, until the sun rises. The light comes through the trees and reflects from my skin. Light that means hope for the humans and fear for a vampire. And I can already hear the grieving voices in my mind, cracking the silence around me as if it were a pane of glass. I look straight to the sun in a way I haven't done for years. Decades. I run and I already know that I'm heading towards my next sin. Blood. Death.

***Mid-life***

**Alice**

Fire. My whole body is on fire. It's running through my veins in the form of hot, liquid lava. It burns me from inside out, but I can see no visible flame on my skin. Something inside me is fighting. And from the way my body is thrashing and quivering, my screams louder than any other time I have felt pain, I can tell that I am losing.

I remember the man that took me from my cell. When he brought me outside I knew he was going to kill me, even though I hadn't seen the whole vision. The last image of him that I can recall is when he leaned towards me. I heard the thin skin of my throat being torn and the fire started spreading from there to the entire length of my body. I didn't react in the beginning. The grasp the man had on me was tight and uncomfortably cold combined with the wintry air and I could hear deafening roars erupting from his chest. And then he was gone.

I don't know how much time passed after he left that I started whimpering. The fire has already spread to every fiber of my body, burning it, torturing me in a way the electric shocks could never do. Even though I am still paralyzed and I can't move my limbs, the fire melted the numbness away, letting me really feel everything. I am breathing hard through my desperate sobs. My voice is raspy from the lack of use and the screaming. I am begging for the man to come back, whoever or whatever he was. Why did he leave me like this? He should have killed me. I would have preferred it, actually. He wasn't fair. Life isn't fair. When I thought he would kill me I felt a strange wave of relief. I would have been forever grateful to him if he had ended the constant torture. But turns out he was even crueler than the other monsters. Instead of killing me he banned me to a never ending burn.

My eyes are still turned to the sky. The rays of a sun I have missed start peeking through the brunches of the trees. The night has ended but the fire only grows stronger. I can feel it burning behind my eyes, stinging them along with the hot tears, the lava running in hot streams leaving marks in its way. My heart is pounding in my chest; I can hear the beating in my ears. It is pumping the blood in my veins so fast that I can almost feel the movement.

I lose focus of the small things of the world then. Things like the sun rising and setting doesn't mean anything. It doesn't matter how many days pass. I can't hear any sound in the forest. What should have been vital and alive seems lifeless. I can only hear my screams of pain, my now dry sobs because somehow my body is out of tears. I can only feel the pain during these long hours. My body is with the burn, my limbs are thrashing involuntarily. I try to claw with my nails on my own skin, in a fruitless attempt to stop the fire or kill myself faster.

Sometime between my sobs and my screams I feel a little drizzle falling over me. I almost expect the rain to put out the fire but it is a hopeless dream. The water certainly eases some of the outside pain but my insides continue to convulse. The rain comes down stronger and the raindrops run down my face like the tears I can no longer shed. It washes away all my memories, cleans all the physical and emotional wounds and shields them in the furthest corners of my head. All the gratefulness I had felt for the man who I had expected to kill me turns towards that unexpected rain. Because as I feel my heart speed up strangely, everything slips from my mind, all the pain, all the hatred, all the cruelty, all the longing. As my body is turning to ashes my mind is being healed. Everything is washed away apart from one name. I forget faces, places, names, visions and realities and I only keep one name securely. The name no one ever called me by. The middle name that doesn't remind me of anything painful. Only the man that brought me to that pyre has ever called me that, once. Even though I can feel his image slipping away from my grasp along with everything else, I can remember this name.

I close my eyes trying desperately to control my flying heart. The burning is starting to centre in my chest and I think that maybe this is good. First, it leaves my legs and then my arms. It is mostly inside my ribcage now, my heart swimming in that sea of lava. I grip my chest and let the last memory whither as my heart gives up with a last beat.

The name echoes in my mind. Alice.

**Edward Cullen**

**The Wrong Choice**

The man's thoughts enrage me to the point of madness. And I can't control the monster inside me, stop it from taking the fury out on him as I grip his head and silence his scream by sinking my teeth into the flesh of his neck.

Blood. Human blood. I am made to crave this. I am made to have this. The fiery color and the smooth texture – a velvet taste that soothes my pain with its warmth. I swallow everything the human in my hands has to give me. He doesn't deserve to be alive. He doesn't deserve the gift he has been given. The beating heart. He has killed a woman and two children. He was planning to do it again. He had been following a young girl when I heard the wickedness in his mind.

I rejoiced in the heavy scent, the strong taste, the comfort of the warmth filling my body, the easing of the burning in my throat.

I drink with fervor, devouring the blood. I try to keep the demon at bay while I feast. I have convinced myself that what I'm doing is defined by justice and not pleasure. I can use my ability to offer something good, even by killing.

Soon I carry an empty carcass. A corpse. I close my eyes. I haven't seen myself in a mirror since I started my service to human kind. But I've seen my reflection in the eyes of my prey. Dark and hungry. Not golden or amber irises anymore. I'm afraid to look at my eyes, thinking that it will break my resolve. And I 'm not ready to go back asking for forgiveness. I have to prove that I'm right first.

But still my conscience knows exactly what I have become. A scavenger hunting not lifeless bodies but killing the scum of this world. A monster under the guise of a principle.

Time has no meaning anymore. I understand now how a vampire can live for so long. Days might pass and I don't notice the sun rise and set while hidden in the confines of the dark woods. Months go by in a blink of the eye. And the only thing that fills my years is blood. Blood flowing in abundance, red and hot, making my body feel alive even for a mere instance. I have an excuse for every murder. I have a reason for every victim that is added to a long list of deaths. A list written in blood.

However, with every other death, with every drop of blood I take, I feel myself slipping away. I try to convince my mind otherwise, that I haven't failed again, but I see the truth every time my image reflects in a mirror, in a puddle of muddy water on the ground, in the eyes of the few people that notice my hungry glare. The demon has overpowered the principle that drove me in my hunt. I still go for the malicious minds but once I smell the blood, all conscious thoughts leave my mind. It is then just a matter of killing for the pleasure. To feel the life slip away from them with my teeth buried in their necks.

But all the while, ever though I'm focused on the joy of the blood, I hear _their_ thoughts in my head instead of my own. And even though they had been mean and sinful, they turn apologetic and sad and hopeful when they face the prospect of death.

Now every meal is supposed to be my last. But I always go back for more. Just like now. There's a body trapped between me and a wall. I can barely control myself from ripping the man open and his head is hanging to one side irregularly while I have my mouth attached to the other side of his throat. It's the monster now that clenches hands like iron grasps around the man. It's his snarl that erupts in the silence.

It's only silent for the rest of the city, though. I hear screams in my head and I'm aware of the dreams I steal away. And I don't see the blood I swallow when I close my eyes. I see the memories of another man as if they were my own.

From the moment I awoke in this life, my mind-reading was a curse. I tried to turn it into something good, a blessing for the mankind. But I only managed to make it worse than ever. As if my ability is punishing me for my arrogance to have thought I have the authority to play the sinners' judge.

I drop the man, dead and cold, empty, on the ground and I fall on my knees over his corpse. For the first time after a long time I hear music in my ears. It's not a nocturne or a symphony or even simple motives of tingling notes coming from a piano. It's a requiem. A prayer for the lost souls. Someone begging for redemption. An angel opening wide his wings and arms to welcome the dead.

Not the undead.

Even if he had been a criminal, he was superior to me in the eyes of the God. I'm the devil himself.

I finally see. It wasn't Carlisle who destroyed me by turning my body into a demon's host. I destroyed myself by allowing that demon to coax me into turning away from my beliefs and ethics. I was weak against my desire and curiosity and, like another Adam, I fell, lost God's grace and gave away what I had, for the sake of blood and adventure. My soul was burning in the red of my eyes and I looked away.

I move in a daze, like someone else is controlling my body. It's still the monster working when I dispose of the body. A selfish monster that smirks baring his sharp teeth before he leaves me alone to mend the pieces of my broken mind. It's then that my conscience attacks me. And it's stronger that the weak remains of a lost human. Only it is always late to berate me. I have already accomplished the unforgiven. And then I'm alone to feel the full power of my guilt and the shame of the wrong I've done. I'm a sinner. And the hardest part is when there's no God to listen to a man burning in his own flame without hope for salvation.

Somehow the town became impossibly loud. However, the only sound I heard was grieving. I sink deep into a woman's wallowing. And then the world is silent. No crying or laughing. No dream to invade my nightmare. I only see images painted in the shades of red. It doesn't matter if I close my eyes. The horror is printed on the back of my eyelids with permanent, timeless colors. First, I saw my victims' lives as I had witnessed them in their minds. Not the bad things. Only memories and prayers just a second before the end. Their deepest and most sacred wishes and dreams. That's where I know I've been wrong. Most of the people I had killed had been young. And I took away any chance they had at redemption, forgiveness. Their screams of fear and pain were the last brick that built the wall that denied me access to my own possible absolution.

I run as fast as I can to rid my tired mind of the guilt inflicted to me by the things I've done. But this too, much like the horror, is too strong to just go away. Before I know it, I'm in the middle of a forest. The eternal trees rise around me like unsparing judges ready to sentence me with my penalty. A penalty I dread but will take without much complaint. An endless life without peace. I can almost hear their accusatory voices in my ears. The hateful things they say.

I see disappointed faces of people who had placed their trust on me. My mother and father. I now remember their faces only by my dim memories and the clear ones Carlisle has of my parents. Carlisle. My surrogate father. The man who taught me just as much as my real father did. And sweet Esme who had depended so much on me during her first years in this world. Whom I had assured of Carlisle's feelings and who had coaxed me back into the world of music again. A true blessing. They had all believed in me and I let them down. Will I ever go back to the little family we had created out of a three-member coven? Will they take me back? Can I find again the person they knew? Can I find myself that was lost behind crimson eyes?

The answer comes with the soft wind. It brings with it a scent I had refused in my arrogant phase. The scent of carnivores. And though still full with blood, I spring forward letting my instincts be led by the smell. And I start my way home.

***Of Light***

**Alice Cullen**

I hear. I smell. I feel. Everything. I only have to open my eyes to see. I can ignore the harsh pain in my throat to appreciate my surroundings. My lungs fill with air and I can distinguish with perfect clarity the movements of my ribs and chest. I can feel every molecule of air sliding inside me and exiting through my nostrils. I open my eyes and I see what my brain tell me to be colors. And they are beautiful. I recognize the deep blue sky of the early morning and the dull green of the trees that move to the direction of the wind. I can see every near and distant detail that lies before my eyes. Every pine needle, every leaf, every crack.

And then I see something distant. Images that run in my head only.

A man, alone. Forgotten by the world. Tortured by his own flame. He is handsome. Blond curls around a hard face. Scars of pain and battle all over his body. I meet him in a building. Some people around us. We ignore them. We have only eyes for each other.

"_Jasper Whitlock, ma'am." _He says in the vision. And I know I belong to him. And he is mine. I just have to find him first.

Five more people in my future. My new family. They are all beautiful. And they have a home somewhere. Hidden from the rest of the world. I know their names. Emmett and Rosalie. Carlisle and Esme. They will be my parents. Edward. My favorite brother. We share something that will bind us together. He has a nice room. I see them running in the middle of a forest. Hunting animals. Vampires. That's what I am. Their last name. Cullen.

I remember that name that a voice kept whispering in my ear. Alice.

That's my choice. I am Alice Cullen. Proud member of the Cullen family, a coven of 'vegetarian' vampires. That is the only life I know. My past doesn't matter.

**Carlisle Cullen**

**The New Choice**

My teeth are still buried in the flesh of the dead animal. But I'm so breathless I can't even move my jaw to release the corpse of the deer. The hunger is mostly gone though I can still identify traces in the slow burn of my throat. Nothing unbearable.

My body thrives with the strength that the blood provided. I can now, for the first time since my transformation, appreciate the new view I had of the world. Colors and shapes sharper. I can see every tiny and unimportant detail of the world the Bible described as God's masterpiece. I am finally totally convinced that He has done well. Everything is in perfect order. Everything working like a perfect machine. And this world, I can feel it surrounding me with its music, the air bringing to me all the individual scents and I can distinguish them one by one. The world is a miracle. And I am a part of it, even as a monster.

Today, as the sun starts to rise again making the small droplets of moist on the grass look like diamonds, my mind feels with opportunities. I have this vast, endless future spread in front of me. And so many ways to fill it with. Now that I found a way to control the monster inside me that thirsts for human blood, I feel free to explore a world so different from the one I once knew.

I finally realize as I sit there with my prey still in my mouth and looking up at blinding light of the sun that there's always a choice. Just as humans can be both good and evil, so can vampires. God put me in this certain path and I was brought up to believe that He always has a reason behind His every plan. I don't know when this plan will be fulfilled but I have the time to prepare. I am a monster and I still rely on a substance that can only be acquired by taking life. But now I have a principle to guide me. Maybe one day I will be rewarded for that.

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><p><strong>Song inspiration: Showbiz-Muse<strong> (I really recommend to read while listening to this) <strong>**

**Great thanks to Drotuno for prereading and helping me with this. **


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